


Cyclosia midamia

by Elle_Nahiara



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Other, POV Second Person, Unrequited Love, Unspecified but Possibly Triggering Content, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:49:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9766466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Nahiara/pseuds/Elle_Nahiara
Summary: It's all about it. Tact.Or, an introspection on feelings for your same-sex friend





	

It's all about it. Tact. Skin upon skin and don't you _really_ want it? Does it matter? You do nothing to get it. 

And you take what you can. 

It's about the touches that never were. You don’t speak about them, though you feel them; Unwanted, nonexistent and yet there, burning your skin with dread of possibility but no actual fact. Your father's fist upon your stomach, and -by someone else, someone that never was- something worse. 

You distract yourself. Like a cat, you catch moths, even though you’ve been told that by touching them, they might never fly again. Because you know she hates moths and think  _maybe I can defend her_ . Still, eventually you stop, fearing you might disgust her, scared of that gross element being contagious, not brave. And suddenly their presence is as unsettling as touch is.

It's not that you hate tact. But you need it on your own terms. Usually, those are violent: a kick to the shin. You feel protected even though you were never in danger. You feel strong. So sick. So... kick. But not her.

She is fragile, she’s lovely. Gentle enough to be scared by moths and butterflies. Don't break her. She's the only one you have. Don't you  _dare_ touch her. 

Not  _her_ . You can’t risk it.

But that night you are lying, her broad back to you. You fear you might hurt her, you fear your touch can do nothing but harm. Yet, you reach.  _No, stop!_ But you take what you can. Subtly, sincerely, you write letters on her back. That’s it, no more. Letters, one by one, until your finger has traced the words you’ll never say. 

“I love you”. 

Does she understand? Can she feel the reckless, fearful hand? You dare nothing else, you never will. You move away, you wonder  _what have I done?_ Then you go to bed, out of reach.

It's about the touches that never were and that you yearned for; A kiss, something worse. Underneath you were famished, craving and crawling like the little worm you are. Disgusting and weak, watching that beautiful creature soar.

It's about not noticing she has walked away until you look up and she’s not there. It's about reaching again and realizing she never even held your hand. Space grows bigger. You took what you could, not what you wanted. You really should have caught that one, if only for a moment.


End file.
